Psychosis
by ReckedSmiles
Summary: Slight AU: Rose Tyler, put in a mental hospital for having delusions of Bad Wolf; her life locked up by the people who couldn't understand her reality. The Doctor, a man who's head seems even more insane; his mind determined to find Rose and what exactly's controlling her dreams. Collab with UrbanAuthor!
1. Prologue

"Rose? Rose Tyler?"

I stop clutching the hem of my shirt and jump up, waving my hand at the nurse in blue. Malia, her name tag addresses. "That's me! I'll be right there!" I reply back.

Malia smiles sweetly and widens the door, her fountain pen scribbling on her clipboard. "Dr. Rowan will see you in room A13."

I nod and continue to venture deeper into the ghastly corridors of the Mental Institution. Now don't get me wrong, I am in no way suicidal, or actually insane for a matter if fact. They just think I am. Which I am certainly not.

This is my ninth therapist since I was twelve. I approach the door that leads into the odd little room, seeing Dr. Rowan typing on his computer. There has always been some sort of smell that lingers in whole place that I honestly don't believe is healthy to breathe in. Nevertheless, I knock softly on the door, Malia safely behind me.

Dr. Rowan looks up, a fake smile plastered on his old, daft face as I open the door. "Ah, Miss Tyler, come, come, sit."

Following his orders, I sit on the lounge chair in the middle of the room, my feet tapping on the tile floor. Dr. Rowan then asks me the one question that sets the whole lovely conversation to a traumatizing start.

"Now, Miss Tyler, when did this all start?"

I repeat the most memorized response. "When I was seven, and I dreamt about a golden, beautiful light." I say in a slightly sarcastic wistful way.

"Did that dream say anything, peculiar? Unusual maybe?"

"No, not at all."

"When did you start to hear this-" he paused for a moment, retracting his words. "Wait, let me start again, does the term...'Bad Wolf' sound familiar to you?"

I flinch. "Yes. Very."

"Have you ever stopped to think that when you first heard those words, it was simply you talking to yourself?"

This man is a load of rubbish. I clench my fist around the hem of my shirt, having all the words flood in one by one. "I must admit to you Dr. Rowan, but yes, after eight therapists, I have. After eight therapists have asked such a question, yes." I nod. "I thought when that...golden light said those words, I thought I was crazy. But-but I'm not!" I shake my head in protest. I'm...I'm just scared. It tells me...tells me who I am. And it's real! Everything it's been telling my is real!" I breath in, readying my last breath to top it off.

"It's not real." He replies. "What you are forcing yourself to believe, it's all normal with a mind such as yours and it's clearly unrealistic. What does it say to you?"

I stand up and take a step back. "No! I'm not insane, and I am not who you think I am! You don't understand! None of you do! I see those words everywhere, it's like...it's like it's trying to tell me something."

"Rose." Dr. Rowan almost laughs, which makes me want to suffocate him. "Listen to yourself, none of this, this nonsense, it's not practical."

I close my eyes, those words beating like a drum inside of me. "Bad Wolf..." I mutter. "Bad Wolf! I am the Bad-"

"Rose, I advise you to sit-"

"No! You're still not listening! I-" I'm pulled back, my butt rather stuck to the seat. My lips feel like paste, stuck together.

I can't say a word.

"Now you're listening," Dr. Rowan smiles sinisterly, eyes doubted, eyebrows furrowed. "It's all fake. Everything is, what you are believing in. What Bad Wolf is. You are insa-"

No!

I am the Bad Wolf.

BAD WOLF. BAD WOLF. BAD WOLF.

* * *

**Apologies, the prologue is short...but the story is better...and longer...mehehue...**

**Credit to _UrbanAuthor, _her stories are amazing WHOUFFLE for you guys, for helping me with this, big time! And yeah, Im going to be super serious about this and try my hardest for you guys! **

**-ReckedSmiles **


	2. Chapter 1

\- Chapter One

I was seven. Just a small blonde girl. I had fallen asleep like a baby, it being dreamless.

Until I saw gold. Just a golden light. All I dreamt about. Normally, this isn't unusual, it was just a dream. Until I had it again the next day, and the day after that, and then the next. It came as quickly as it went, the words echoing like the ring if a bell.

Bad Wolf.

It shocked me a little less than it should have. I had became accustomed to these dreams in less than a month, and Bad Wolf was accepted. It had come to the point where in class, when we read about the folk tale of The Three Little Pigs, or maybe even Little Red Riding Hood, I would flinch every time the big Bad Wolf was mentioned. My classmates made fun of me for being frightened of such a childish story, but it didn't discourage me by much. They didn't know.

At the age of eight, I finally told my mother about these dreams. How I have them every night. My mother replied with a furrowed brow, asking if I was tired, or crazy, and went back to chopping onions.

I had never felt so neglected. As an eight year old, imagination was the religion of the playground. All the girls were princesses, all the boys being brave princes as knights. They sometimes let me join, but always left me hanging when I talked about being the Bad Wolf. They all laughed and called me weird, or a loser, kicking me to the ground and spitting on me.

"Girls aren't supposed to be like that!"

"Get out of here Tyler! Bad Wolf, that's stupid. Girls are princesses, not losers. You're supposed to be a princess! But we already know that you'd never be one, you're too crazy. You'd never be a princess!"

Why couldn't I be both? Both a ruler and a beast; a princess and a wolf. Children are so accustomed to rules that they hear from stories, they're never flexible with the things that can't be understood.

Their words didn't hurt as much and the bruises on my face and forearms.

When I was nine, my dreams took a turn. Out of the blue, the gold turned black, and in the middle of my dreams, was a woman. A woman with beautiful golden hair and a soft voice. She whispered words, understandable at one point, what seemed as though an ancient dialect in the next.

You are the Bad Wolf, _we_ are the Bad Wolf. It's a part of _you_. Never let _anyone_ believe otherwise. She whispered. Over and over. Chanting words that could be an alien language.

She turned around, opening her eyes, a golden light shimmering from her pupils, shining into every direction. Brightening the darkness to show nothing but stars. Wisps of golden sparkles floating in the atmosphere before me. Her rubbish clothes and cloak transforming into a flowing gown. Fit for a goddess.

From that moment on, I knew what was going on was important.

That dream went on for months, implanted in my brain. Bad Wolf was all I thought about. What I doodled in class, what I answered any question with. For years this went on, and now I'm sixteen.

But dreams were only one thing.

I was walking through the mall, getting myself some new jeans when the words appeared. Right in front of me. Red, blood crimson, dripping paint on an ordinary brick world. Bad Wolf.

It was only a few months after that when my own mother put me in a mental institution, asking me if I had any experience with alcohol or ever drug abuse. I said no, and it was the truth.

After my last four years of therapists, I hadn't gotten anywhere close to sanity. I had only gotten further away from it.

And I've been like that ever since.

After Dr. Rowan had to sedate me, (Wow that sounds _bad_) they put me back in my room.

The place is pretty dirty, and except for a bed, a restroom, and the towers of books on the corner, the place is empty. Mangy, dusty, and depressing, but still white and boring.

With a sigh I lay down on my bed, grabbing my pen and starting to doodle on the walls. It's a habit that I have constructed over the last few months. I haven't made many friends here, because, well, they're actually insane. I can't talk much either. But, when I do, I always seem to say the wrong thing.

I guess that's how I wound up in this place.

I really just want to be treated like a normal human being. I want to get out of this life that they forced me into. I want to be happy. I'm good around people, used to work for a boutique before I was thrown in here. I was normal those few months, or, at least what I thought was normal.

Now, I just don't know.

After a small doodle of a very tall tower and a princess, I draw a prince. I giggle at the sight of it, finishing my minuscule masterpiece with a small 'BW' at the side; it's my artist's signature. Even though my classmates wouldn't accept me as a princess, I knew I was one. A lost one. A very lost one. One hiding in a tower of helplessness and loneliness, just waiting to see the world.

As much as being a princess appealed to me, I knew I was far from the real thing. I could never truly be one. Not with this life, face, or mind. I was a fool. Still sorta am.

No, not a princess, but a queen. Queen Rose. Perfect. No one will tell me who I am, or who I need to be. I could set the example for once. I can just be Queen Rose; Queen Rose of the Bad Wolf.

Has a nice ring to it.

After another hour of staring at my view of the ceiling and doodling, the dinner bell rang.

Such a crappy system. We have bells for everything: food, visits, restroom. It's a prison, within a prison. I wait patiently for the nurse to bring the tray in. Today is Macaroni Monday, such a silly, optimistic name for a day in this dark, morbid palace.

The nurse comes in, and to no surprise, it's Malia.

"Hello Rose, happy Macaroni Monday." she says, and I can sense the sarcasm in her voice. She brings the tray and sets it in my bed, taking out dull forks and spoons. They order utensils without sharp points or ridges (Dump precautions...), but strangely enough, they still work. I take the tray and plastic cup of water gingerly.

Malia nods, the lines around her eyes crinkling. "I wanted to inform you that you'll be getting a new therapist. You didn't quite appeal to Dr. Rowan."

I don't appeal to anyone.

"Oh." I whisper. "Really?" The information is surprising though, it being only a few hours sonar my 'appointment' with Dr. Rowan.

"Yeah, he's handsome." Malia giggles."Too bad I'm already married." Her eyes waver quickly at the fresh doodle on the wall, smiles warmly, and sits on the bed.

I smile back at this. Malia is always wonderful, we rarely talk, but when we do, she treats me like a regular person. "Does he have a name?" I mumble as I start to pick at my Mac and cheese.

"He goes by "The Doctor", though it's John Smith. From what I heard. Met him once if it makes you feel better. So Doctor stuck. Everyone in the staff calls him by that. Quite clever I suppose." She answers.

"So...Doctor then?"

"Doctor."

"...so, how _exactly_ handsome is he?" I blurt out. I blush and place the tray on my dresser.

Malia only laughs and pats my head; my blonde, seemingly naive, sixteen year-old head.

"Oh Rose, the bloke could be twenty-six!"

* * *

**Hello everyone! This is going rather slow, but no worries. I have writers block major but the story line is absolute. Promise. Thanks to my friend UrbanAuthor for being absolutely wonderful and going over it for me. This amazingness isn't from me, go talk to her! Haha, well, until then...The Doctor! You'll most possibly meet him next chapter...Rose meeting him next chapter...possible eye-sex next chapter. (Apologies, I mean, like some _other_ ship I know, these guys are exactly the same. So the truth has been spoken!) **

**Toodles! **

**-ReckedSmiles and intentional UrbanAuthor. **


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